


Make a Stand Where We Belong

by TriffidsandCuckoos



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriffidsandCuckoos/pseuds/TriffidsandCuckoos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>6 times someone warned Charles against Erik, and one time he warned someone else. Set throughout the film.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make a Stand Where We Belong

**1\. Moira MacTaggert**

 

Moira tries to hold him back on the boat, when he senses the other mutant and sees the wave following Shaw’s submarine. “Don’t,” she insists. 

God, the rage in the man’s head. Charles’ hands clench around the railing as he focuses, trying to find a rational point to appeal to, but everything seems drowned under the cry for vengeance. For a moment, Charles too wants to hurt, wants even to kill, so overwhelming is the emotion and so deeply is he pulled so soon into this stranger’s mind. 

Drowned… 

Before he can realise what he’s doing, he’s running to the other side of the boat, already knowing what he has to do even as he screams inside the man’s – _Erik’s_ – head. 

“Charles, don’t! Leave him!” 

Moira knows what he’s planning – as far as he could claim to be planning anything. But she doesn’t understand; she can’t see inside Erik’s head, see the _fury_ and, underneath, the man it’s overpowered. 

Briefly he feels her hand try to close around his arm, but he easily shrugs her off – easier than usual, perhaps – and in a moment has flung himself overboard, into the surprisingly warm water (at least compared to the British coast). Instantly he knows where to go, as surely as a homing beacon, and when he grabs hold, he doesn’t intend to let go. 

 

**2\. Sebastian Shaw**

 

When Charles had first realised that Shaw’s companion is another telepath, he had been excited. Whilst technically he has always known it to be very possible that there could be others like him out there – really, evolving the mind is the next logical step, following the process of human evolution – coming face to face with the reality had been something else entirely. 

And then yet another thing altogether. 

He wants to talk to Erik properly, but right now the man doesn’t seem to like the idea of cooperating. It’s only Charles talking in his mind, sending soothing thoughts for all he’s worth, which seems to be holding him back from running the moment they reach land. As it is, once they reach their transportation, Charles sends an apology followed by a simple ‘encouragement’ to sleep. 

It’s after perhaps ten minutes of watching Erik’s face, still surprisingly intense even in sleep, and wondering whether he dares to investigate further – before had been to save Erik’s life, as desperate an act as the accompanying dive, and from what he had glimpsed, Erik was not one to welcome the mental intrusion, for all that he might be tolerating it for the moment – when he suddenly feels a disconcerting brush against his mind. Disconcerting because for once he experiences the other side of initiated telepathic contact. 

_Be careful_ , Charles feels projected into his mind. The way it’s reached out to him tells him the telepath’s involved, but the way the words slide slickly against his thoughts tells him that it’s Shaw. He feels a rush of relief that Erik is asleep, because for all their brief contact, he could see this man large in his mind, albeit by a different name and in a very different context. 

_Trying to protect him?_ Shaw’s amused. Charles reflects that he’s never heard the mutant in person, only filtered through Erik’s thoughts. He’s not sure if the reality is better or so much worse, especially when he knows everything this man is. _If anything, you should be trying to protect yourself._

Charles reaches out, knowing that this must mean Shaw is unprotected, but finds himself suddenly deflected, rejected by a wall only lifted sufficiently and in short enough bursts for Shaw to speak. The shock of the defence stuns Charles for that key moment when he might have been able to retaliate. In his vision of encounters with other telepaths, he had never considered mental warfare. It puts him at a clear disadvantage, as obviously this telepath has more than enough experience, or at least preparation. 

Perhaps it’s a character flaw, the ego playing up again as it always did throughout his education and never more so than at Oxford. Perhaps it’s the nature of his power. But the loss of control makes his skin crawl and his mind scream. 

_Little Erik will never be yours,_ Shaw projects, smug satisfaction ringing clear in every thought. _He belongs to me. I made him, and whatever you might try, I will always be the centre of his universe._

Charles clenches his fists, and wonders – vehemently, after years of repressing the mere notion – what it would be like to let loose. He’s spent so long trying to hold in his powers that he’s not entirely sure what would happen. He’s seen the destruction Erik is capable of – that he had been openly envisaging when they met, pictures that made Charles flinch even as he had reached out, the urge to run fighting the need to help – and tries to envisage it on the mental level. 

Charles tries to keep an open mind. To accept all mutants, to acknowledge their backgrounds. 

But Shaw seems set on pushing him too far. 

As he gathers his resources, ready to unleash his power at the wall – no idea what amount is necessary and what is excessive in this context, but the invasion and the twisted image of Erik prevents him from caring too much – he thinks he can sense it waver. Perhaps the telepath knows what he is about to do. Despite the pacifist ideals he has always tried to force on himself, Charles finds himself hoping that she – _she_ , suddenly he has an image of a woman in his head, a woman wearing less than the average amount of clothes and not in a way that suggests it might have come from himself – that she is scared of him. Or at least wary. 

A mental chuckle, and he can finally feel Shaw leaving, the horrible itch in his mind retreating. _Just think about it,_ Charles. _Sooner or later, you’ll see I’m right._

And then Charles is left in the back of the car, breathing heavily. A glance to his left tells him that Erik is still asleep, and once again Charles wonders just what sort of man he has saved. 

Still, as he watches him, he refuses to regret it, even for a moment. Especially now that he has heard the monster who has haunted Erik’s entire life. In that moment, Charles promises himself that he will not go delving into Erik’s mind, allowing himself only what Erik will let him see and do. From the few flashes of his life before, it is clear he deserves that much. 

As an afterthought, he reaches out mentally – resisting the urge to echo the movement physically – and gently sweeps away any dreams, offering Erik at least one night of freedom. 

 

**3\. Alex Summers.**

 

Alex is a very lost young man. 

Charles can feel it; not only through Cerebro, not only by reading his record and the minds of his wardens, but also simply there in his thoughts. The choices; the image of himself which brought him to this point. 

So it really shouldn’t surprise him, this scepticism he’s faced with. It’s as natural to the boy – and he is still a boy, no matter what he pretends – as breathing, and that fact gives Charles a greater sense of conviction than any argument: the reality before the theory. Nevertheless, it still startles him when Alex asks the question, when Erik leaves them for a brief minute in the café: 

“So, you trust him?” 

Charles looks at him in confusion, knowing precisely to whom he is referring. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

Alex shrugs. “I just – I know the type. You see them in prison – the scary ones. Not the tough ones, but the ones in control, that you know could snap any moment.” As clearly as if Alex had intended to project it, Charles sees an image of precisely the man he means, coloured with fears. Those others in solitary, whom he encountered from time to time and had had pointed out to him from the moment he’d stepped through the prison doors. 

Charles can’t help but reflect what kind of life he might have led, what kind of person he might have become had his gift not intervened. Or, he corrected himself in a tone of voice which had a surprisingly Erik-like tint to it, had society not been able to accept it. 

Children like Alex, and Raven before him, were exactly why he had begun to envision a haven for mutants. As he had explained fervently to Erik as the warden had led them to Alex’s cell – telepathically, naturally, they’d fallen into it as easily as anything else, Erik allowing him in and Charles unable and unwilling to resist – mutants like them needed somewhere to learn to control their powers, to learn who they were without being forced them into these circumstances. 

As ever, Erik had raised an eyebrow, and Charles had been able to sense a general air of disbelief and scepticism. He liked to think that he had felt a little less this time, a sliver of thought that that perhaps it was possible, although no doubt Erik pictures it in terms of isolation from the outside – human – world. In many ways, he guesses, Erik is his greatest project of all, and one which he refuses to give up on. 

“I can assure you that Erik is nothing like those men.” 

Alex only looks at him, in such a way that Charles doesn’t need to read him to feel the cynicism. Like Raven and Erik together, he reflects. _Not yet,_ comes the thought, and Charles has to fight to suppress the urge to instantly leap to Erik’s defence. He knows this isn’t about Erik; it’s about Alex. 

Nevertheless… 

He sees Erik walking over towards them and Alex turning away, hunching over and assuming an innocent air, trying to appear completely unsuspicious as no doubt prison taught him. He doesn’t want to attract Erik’s attention. Understandable, and perhaps Charles should already see this as a promising sign that he is willing to speak his doubts at all; that he trusted him sufficiently to voice them. 

So he respects that, and restricts his defence to thoughts alone. 

_I trust Erik Lehnsherr with my life,_ he thinks to Alex, and means it. 

 

**4\. Raven Xavier**

 

“Are you in love with him?” 

Charles blinks at Raven in surprise, coming to a halt in the middle of the hallway. Fortunately – even though he knows Raven has deliberately chosen this moment for precisely this reason – the others are currently scattered throughout the mansion, investigating their rooms. “Who?” he finally asks, trying to sound innocent (he won’t blush, that would be utterly ridiculous), despite the fact that he is at the same time frantically scanning to ensure Erik isn’t within hearing distance. He finds him on the other side of the mansion, having deposited his few possessions in a room and then gone exploring. He doesn’t have to read his mind to know he’s looking for escape routes, because he did so at the CIA base as well. 

He hears a snort of laughter and focuses on Raven in front of him, amusement radiating from her. “Right, I’m sure you don’t know.” She rolls her eyes. 

He narrows his own, never a great fan of being teased but at least comforted that she can still do so after Shaw. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The cliché only makes the lie more obvious. 

“Erik,” she says bluntly, throwing Charles off again. “Magneto. That guy whose life you saved and since then have never let out of your sight for more than five minutes. Are you in love with him?” 

“Why would I – why would you think – No! Of course not!” he splutters. Rather than somehow being reassured by the incoherent outburst, Raven’s smile drops away and her eyes widen. 

“Oh my God.” 

“No!” 

“I mean, it’s okay if you’re, you know – ” 

“I’m not!” he yells, more to cut her off than anything else. He can’t really be having this conversation; he just can’t. As if Shaw and the CIA and the impending end of the world weren’t enough. 

“Okay,” Raven says quietly, obviously trying to calm him down, despite the quite frankly terrifying glint in her eye. “Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d react like that.” 

He can sense her surprise, and very slight fear, and fights harder to control himself (and ignores the excitement too). “No, I’m sorry. I – It’s been a long day.” To say the least. 

“It’s been a long few weeks,” she agrees, as if she’s the mind-reader here. She cocks her head on one side, looking at him closely. Charles never really knows what to do when she does this, _looking_ at him as if she can see everything about him. He promised a long time ago not to read her thoughts – anything he does hear is being broadcasted so loud it’s actually harder for him not to – but every time she does this the impulse to find out just what she’s seeing can be almost impossible to control. Come to think of it, he has a similar reaction when Erik narrows his eyes in that very certain way of his, and the comparison is a little too disturbing for him to carry through. If there’s one thing to conclude, perhaps it’s that those close to him find their own ways of knowing his thoughts the way he knows theirs. 

“You do realise,” she says slowly, “that it _has_ just been a few weeks, right?”

“It certainly feels a great deal longer,” he says with a smile, “but yes, of course.” 

“You’ve only known Erik a few weeks.” 

He frowns, trying to see what she’s getting at. “As I said, it feels longer.” He tries to keep smiling, but perhaps it now looks a tad more nervous than before. 

Now he can place her dominant emotion: concerned. “It’s just that I’ve never seen you get this close to someone this fast before. I mean, there’s me, but we were kids. This is someone you didn’t grow up with. You met when he was trying to _kill_ someone, and now you’re…” She trails off, shrugging slightly helplessly. “I don’t know. He’s definitely closer to you than any of the friends you’ve had before, and I don’t think it’s just because he’s a mutant.” 

Then she reaches out, all sympathetic and scared and defensive little sister, and squeezes his hand. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.” 

Charles likes to think that he’s good with people. That he understands them. For that reason, his complete confusion regarding what Raven is talking about leaves him staring at her blankly. She smiles at him sadly, and then turns to go – he can see Hank clearly in her surface thoughts – leaving him standing there speechless in the hallway. 

 

**5\. Emma Frost**

 

The training is, for the most part, exactly how Charles has always imagined: frustrating at times, but ultimately the most rewarding experience possible. Watching Sean soaring through the sky – save for his glares at Erik, received always with a grin – or Alex finally hit the target –sending Hank throughout as many calming thoughts as he can possibly manage – and the grins of triumph on their faces, Charles realises that he can imagine doing this for much longer. The rest of his life, even. 

Occasionally he likes to think that Erik, while not agreeing wholeheartedly, might actually support the sentiment. Others might doubt him, but he thinks he can imagine both of them here, doing this with the many more he touched with Cerebro before it was destroyed. (As soon as Hank has a better grasp on his powers, and has finished with whatever it is he’s working with down in his lab that’s secret enough to actually consciously block him, Charles has to ask him about building a new one. What they’re doing here has only served to convince him more than ever that he needs to find them: as many mutants as need their help.) 

Of course, as optimistic as he feels, he is still very aware of why they’re doing this now. Shaw is still out there, and as much as Charles regrets the circumstances surrounding it, he still feels a certain relief that he is separated from his telepath. Not only does it weaken Shaw, but it also means Charles doesn’t have to feel those sickening thoughts sliding against his own. Sometimes he remembers it, as strong as at that moment, and feels a wave of nausea – usually at the worst possible moment, when trying to sleep or when Erik comments that Charles could do with his own practice. 

Unfortunately, while they may be separated, Shaw’s telepath is still out there. Imprisoned, certainly, but still there, and out for her own revenge. 

_You really think you’re safe?_

Charles forces a smile, and excuses himself from the dining table. Sean, Alex, Hank and Raven all seem engaged in their own conversation, so much so that even Raven doesn’t offer him anything more than a quick grin. It pleases him, to see her so happy and with people like herself, her own age. She seems so much more confident these days. 

Only Erik offers him a questioning look, and Charles waves it off. _A wolf amongst the sheep,_ the telepath thinks to him, and his weak smile wavers. Turning, he tries to not look as if he’s fleeing. All he knows is that he can’t do this in front of them, and above all else, he has to get away from Erik. Oh God, he can’t let Erik know. 

_Good to see you’re aware of the danger._

He doesn’t want to encourage her, but Erik has his own way of making Charles ‘practise’. _He doesn’t need to know._ He would only over-react.

 _And you know what would happen then._ He doesn’t have to sense her amusement; it’s practically forced _into_ his head. 

_You saw what he’s capable of. What he did to me._ The memory presses down on him, regardless of his resistance, a surreal and terrifying experience after a lifetime of being the one in control: the telepath bound by the bed, Erik forcing the rails to tighten around her neck, cracking the diamond. Only this time different aspects are emphasised, highlighted for his attention: the pain she experienced, her fear – added, embellished, or genuine, he can’t tell under the onslaught – and Erik’s refusal to listen to him. That he carried on, convinced he was right, and when he had finally stopped it was with the conviction that his methods had been vindicated. 

_How long before it’s you?_

In an instant the roles are switched: the telepath stands behind Erik, and Charles is held in place, staring helplessly up at his friend’s face, calmness only a front for the fury which lies beneath the surface, broadcasted past all of his defences, as the bindings tighten and the world shrinks to nothing but his face… 

And then she’s gone. 

Charles is left leaning on the back of the armchair, gasping. Slowly, in an oddly detached way, he realises that he is sweating; that his hands are clenched around the leather so hard that it hurts. 

He blames his distraction for the fact that he doesn’t immediately register the brush against his mind that has somehow, in so short a time, become as familiar as Raven. 

“Charles?” 

He stifles the flinch, the brief irrational panic. He refuses to let that telepath – _Emma,_ she had told him, teasingly, flirtatiously, as she left, _Emma Frost_ – decide how he feels about this man. He may have only met Erik a few weeks ago, but one of the advantages of being a telepath is that that doesn’t stop Charles from _knowing_ him. Of course, one of the disadvantages is that one brush had been enough for him to know Shaw and Emma as well. 

He turns, and offers Erik the same weak smile (no point in putting much effort in when Erik always seems to be able to see through him anyway). “Just a headache, my friend.” 

 

**6.Erik Lehnsherr**

 

Tomorrow everything will change. 

They both know it. Whatever Erik might comment – Charles likes to think it’s a joke, but he also knows Erik’s sense of humour – Charles does not live in a fantasy world, isolated from reality. He knows that things cannot remain the same after this; he simply allows himself to hope – because if they can’t hope, then what chance does this new future have – that the change might be for the better, in the long run. 

He knows Erik disagrees. Even though Charles is very carefully not voicing exactly what he dares to hope, Erik’s response is there already, lying within his cynical words and expressions. 

Sitting there, playing chess once more but with the weight of the future over the board, Charles knows that Erik is thinking about Shaw, within reach once again. He doesn’t have to be telepathic to know that Erik is picturing the moment just as he had been when they met, but it does help. 

So, with Raven’s words still in his mind – her words, and the change that has come over her in the last few weeks – Charles wants to try one more time. However, while the words are still stuck, confused, he is surprised to find that Erik actually broaches the subject first. 

“This may be our last game.” 

Charles frowns, because that isn’t at all how he’d expected Erik to say it. If he didn’t know any better, he might have even described it as ‘wistful’. However, accusing Erik of wistfulness sounds more as if Charles is projecting himself onto the words, so he restrains himself from any judgement. “Not if we win.” 

“And if we do? How long do you think they will tolerate us, once they have proof we exist?” 

Just like Erik, Charles thinks a little irritably. Always making it about us against them. Refusing to be pulled into another argument – this is the one thing that the two of them can argue about, so easily, and generally they tend to avoid it, apparently both preferring not to linger over this one point of contention 

“Mutants will be able to see that they’re not alone. That there are others like them.” 

“Just as humans will see that they are not alone on this planet.” 

Charles looks at him sharply, but Erik is already smiling – although not in the traditional manner – knowing how Charles feels about such statements. Sighing, he moves his rook two squares to the right. “I was thinking that this could become more than a refuge. Most of them are just scared children. We could make this a school for them. It could even offer some cover for those who don’t wish to admit the truth.” 

He doesn’t have to look up to know that Erik is watching him, eyebrow raised. While he may not have emphasised the ‘we’, the implication in the statement was more than clear. 

“I am sure you are quite capable of forming this school of yours without me, Professor.” His strange twisted smile is obviously supposed to mask the pain as a joke. They keep reaching this strange compromise, where they each know the other’s thoughts, yet still pretend they do not. 

“I may be capable, my friend. But I do not want to.” 

Charles is rather gratified by the stunned expression on Erik’s face, the surprise practically radiating off him. Saddened as well, certainly, that even after all this time – except that of course it hasn’t been long at all, not really – Erik might not have expected such a gesture, not to mention knowing that Erik hasn’t planned his life beyond this single confrontation. 

“After Shaw,” Charles starts, and is careful not to mention killing or capturing the mutant, not wanting to see Erik’s horrible shuttered expression, “you will still be alive, and you will still need something to occupy yourself. Why not the school?” 

_Everything I touch, I destroy._

The thoughts are suddenly there, hanging in the air between them, only growing larger and somehow heavier the longer the silence stretches out. Perhaps Erik had had a more ‘acceptable’ response planned, but it clearly dies away when he realises, with an annoyed twitch of his eyebrow, that Charles heard his thought. 

“You don’t believe that, do you?” Charles asks, but even as the words leave his lips he can feel Erik’s unique mixture of guilt, lurking self-loathing and overwhelming anger at the world, and almost doesn’t need to see how he refuses to meet his eyes. _Oh, my friend,_ he thinks, and from Erik’s scowl he realises he projected those words without meaning to. Erik is hardly the only one who could benefit from further practice. 

“I don’t need your pity, Charles. I am warning you against a plan where you rely on me.” 

“Why shouldn’t I?” Charles asks, genuinely not understanding. Oh, he knows Erik has this jaded image of life, but not so much of himself, and certainly not like this. “You are a good person, my friend, and after tomorrow I want nothing more than to give you the chance to prove it. You’re good with the children, you can teach them a great deal which I cannot, and there is still so much we can teach each other…” 

And then Charles trails off, because the expression on Erik’s face is more _pained_ than anything else. Either hurt by the feeling in Charles’ words – as he might prefer personally – or as part of his usual cynical reaction to such a speech. Based on the surface emotions Charles can allow himself to pick up, it could be both. 

“You don’t understand,” Erik says with a shake of his head, not self-pitying but calm, simply observing the fact. “We all have places we belong, and things we must do. There are also places where we do _not_ belong. And I do not belong anywhere in that idyllic picture of yours, Charles.” 

Perhaps Charles might gather some strength later from the fact that Erik doesn’t dismiss it out of hand. However, he cannot focus on that, because suddenly he feels the unexpected invitation to go further down the rabbit hole, as it were. _See for yourself,_ Erik thinks, and fascination pulls Charles in. 

It’s a strange place, in Erik’s head. Charles hasn’t permitted himself to venture this far very often, just enough for what had been necessary and, on later occasions, only with rare permission. The few chances he gets tell Charles that this is probably a good thing, because he could lose himself in here, in a manner he has never experienced before with anyone else. If he had a lesser image of their friendship, he might even say that this forms a large part of what draws them together. Of course, he knows better than that, albeit not to an extent where he can define exactly what it is instead. 

Erik’s mind reiterates his original statement, and furnishes it with evidence: the mother who would not have died without him, and more, so many more that he was forced to watch, that he chose not to save, that he actively hunted down. Not for the first time – but possibly never this clearly before – Charles can sense the self-loathing behind the avenger. The recognition of what he is, underneath the conviction that he is doing what is _necessary._

“I am not like you, Charles.” Briefly there comes a flash of images – Erik in a bar somewhere, or a bank, with a hovering knife or just his hand held threateningly over a man’s mouth, and the thought of fillings – which hit Charles and vanish before he has a chance to process them. “There is no place for me in your utopia.” He tries to smile teasingly – at least, Charles thinks that’s how it’s intended – but it twists into something uglier. “There’s no place for my brand of realism.” 

Sometimes it scares Charles just what he might do to Shaw, should they ever meet face to face. The price he might extract for what that man did to the friend who sits before him. Perhaps it’s the natural empathy from his powers – although Charles is more than aware that his connection with Erik rather goes beyond that – but as much as he disapproves, Charles can still understand Erik’s desire for vengeance. 

But, as ever… “We have to show that we can be the better people.” 

_You can be._

For the second time in such a short space, Charles finds himself floored by the honest thought that slips out between them. It stops him from responding aloud straight away. If Charles didn’t know any better, he might have said that Erik looked slightly panicked for a moment, before schooling it into his usual steady gaze. 

“You believe that your dream is possible. And perhaps it is.” In the heartbeat between sentences, Charles allows himself to hope, to celebrate this as the enormous allowance that it is. The admission that perhaps Erik’s way is not the only way. He is so overwhelmed that he almost misses the next statement: “But not for me. 

“That is not my world, Charles. That is not the world I have lived in, and I doubt it is a world I _could_ live in.” 

Charles frowns, not angry as such but certainly…annoyed. “You might give it a chance, my friend. You should be careful what you do with your life. You are capable of so much; I would hate to see it go to waste.” 

Erik says nothing, leaning forward to position his queen, and Charles suddenly has a strangely empty feeling. It takes him a moment to realise that Erik has effectively shut off even his surface thoughts from Charles’ mental gaze. How long has he been able to do that? What does it mean that he hasn’t done so before? Charles has an uncomfortable feeling that he already knows why Erik has chosen now to do so. 

Silence falls between them, echoing the apparent silence in Erik’s thoughts. The game continues, and it has an odd finality about it: as if Erik’s right and this will be the last time. Charles sincerely hopes it’s just fanciful thinking. He’s never displayed any precognitive abilities before, so this must be simple pre-battle foreboding. 

‘Pre-battle’. Never a situation he thought he would find himself in. 

All too soon, the game is done, and it is too late to begin another. Charles wants to spend longer together – would happily stay up all night, if only to dispel this creeping dread that unsettles him – but Erik stands to leave, ever the practical one in such situations. It would make a good balance, should they continue to teach the children together, but Charles bites back the urge to say so, restraining himself to a simple “Good night, my friend.” 

While Erik doesn’t smile, he does lift that wall in his mind – not sufficiently for Charles to see what caused him to shut it off entirely, but enough for him to feel a surprising wave of warmth as he returns the sentiment. Charles isn’t sure how to interpret it, but he tries to send an answer, something that might begin to express just how Charles feels, and if Erik’s smile turns slightly sad, slightly pained, neither of them wishes to mention it. 

However, just as Erik reaches the door, Charles knows he has to say _something._

“Erik?” 

He doesn’t turn, but he does stop. 

“You won’t destroy this. I won’t let you.” 

Charles can still feel the doubt in his mind, the uneasiness, but for the moment at least Erik’s shoulders relax, and he can feel some sense of relief. For a moment Erik turns his head – as if to say…something – but then he seemingly changes his mind and moves on. 

However, as much as Charles tries not to pry – not with Erik, who has already experienced so many invasions of that which should be personal and private – he still catches one more thought: _Thank you._

 

**+1. Charles Xavier**

 

_“What do you suggest”_

A meeting. Bodies in suits, and he doesn’t care about who they are; only what they represent. Another rule broken, but he does seem to be doing that an awful lot lately. Perhaps he has always been capable of it, only needing to be pushed that little bit further – he suppresses the recollection of a satellite dish – but at the same time he knows this is also a very certain situation he has been pushed into. He is only reacting to someone else. 

Is this what Erik had in mind, when he claimed that he would corrupt him? 

Regardless, he knows what he has to do – or at least what _he_ believes is necessary. They’re talking about Erik, and that makes it his business. 

Charles is still holding a chess piece in his hand, so tightly that he can feel the edges cutting into his skin. Focusing on the pain, forcing himself to breathe steadily, he projects his thoughts outwards, transforming them into something felt more than heard, into their minds: 

_Leave him. Leave him alone. Or he will kill you._

The words hurt, tasting bitter in his mind the way only a telepath could understand, like a hope turned to ash. But it works: they nod, accept the thoughts as if they were their own, and the discussion follows accordingly. Rather than hunting Erik – ‘Magneto’, they call him – down, they’re discussing precautions, safeguards, and eventually other items. He still listens in, to make sure there’s no threat to his school either, but he feels a sense of relief within his own thoughts that he’s quite aware shouldn’t be there. 

Nobody’s questioned him yet. Perhaps they’re just glad to be alive, or perhaps they do appreciate that something major has occurred, even if they can’t understand just what it means to him. 

So he doesn’t have to use his powers to conceal the truth: that no matter how many warnings, how many cautions, how many pieces of advice people feel they need to dispense; no matter what anybody says, he will not give up. Charles knows what a monster is, and he refuses to see Erik as one. If only to hold back that one victory from him, and from Shaw. 

Erik is still a good man – good intentions, if bad means. And some day, Charles will be able to prove it to him. 

He has never been very good at listening to warnings.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Edguy's 'Superheroes'


End file.
